


Allegiance

by carolinecrane



Category: D3: The Mighty Ducks (1996), Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane





	Allegiance

For a long time his whole life had been about hockey. It took a lot of work to become the best enforcer in the nation, after all, and there was a reason they'd picked him to fill out Team USA at the Goodwill Games. He'd worked with other enforcers before, skated with the same team since he was just a kid. He'd always loved the game and considered the other guys on his team his best friends in the world. Hockey was his life; it was all he ever thought about, and all he and his friends ever talked about.

He knew exactly when that had changed, could point to the exact moment and say, "There. Right there." Looking back he could still picture the exact moment when his whole world changed, even though he didn't realize it at the time.

When he turned down the scholarship to Eden Hall he told himself it was because he wanted to stay with his own team; representing the US in the Goodwill Games had been fun and he'd made some new friends, but it wasn't the same as playing with his team back home. At first, sure, he'd been excited about the idea of going to school with the other Ducks, being part of the Bash Brothers again. When he'd stood up on that podium after the Goodwill Games and listened to Eden Hall offering them full scholarships it had felt good, like he belonged up there with the rest of them. He'd wanted to go, wanted to hang out with Fulton some more and skate with him. The way they moved together on the ice -- even the papers said they'd never seen anything like it, that the Bash Brothers were an unstoppable force.

He'd wanted to hold onto that, and for awhile it had seemed more important than staying home and going back to his own school. But it had only lasted as long as it took to see his friends again, to play a few games of street hockey and listen to them all tell him how great he was and how much the team needed him. He never even told them about the scholarship. They wouldn't understand, they'd just accuse him of selling them out for a bunch of preppies. And they would have been right, so he buried the scholarship offer in his room, and when he heard that Bombay wasn't coaching them he grabbed the only excuse he could think of and ran with it.

It was easy to let himself believe it after awhile, so easy that he half-believed it even when he finally took the scholarship and showed up at Eden Hall. He never talked about it to any of his friends at home, and if he thought about Fulton a little more than he thought about the rest of the team he could tell himself that it was just because he missed being part of the kind of magic they had when they were on the ice together.

He had a picture of them in his bedroom at home, clipped out of one of the papers from back when they were in L.A. It was his claim to fame, he told all his friends when they asked about it. Then he'd joke around about how someday they were going to see him on the front of the sports section again, only the next time he'd be wearing a Blackhawks uniform. He promised them they'd see Fulton there too, that they'd probably even be on the same team because some owner would want both the Bash Brothers on his ice.

Not that it mattered; he knew he could make the pros even without Fulton at his side.

So he didn't have a reason to go back to Minnesota, didn't care about scholarships or the Ducks. They weren't his team, after all; they were already a team when they got to L.A., and they were still a team without him. Maybe some of them missed him a little, like Kenny and Russ and yeah, probably Fulton too, but that didn't mean anything. They were still playing without him, and once school and hockey started up again he'd forget all about them.

Only hockey season was well underway when Bombay showed up, and Dean hadn't forgotten anything. He tried to tell himself he didn't miss the Ducks, didn't miss being a Bash Brother or playing air guitar to Fulton's tapes when they were supposed to be sleeping. He didn't miss breaking curfew with Fulton to go get ice cream, and he definitely didn't miss just hanging out in their room, talking about hockey and music and anything else that came to mind. And if he spent a lot of time staring at the picture he'd clipped out of the newspaper it was just because it was hanging right over his desk, and staring at anything was better than actually doing his homework. It could just as easily have been a picture of a girl. Or a car. Or the Blackhawks roster.

It didn't mean anything.

But it had been the first thing he'd packed after he let Bombay and his parents talk him into accepting the scholarship. He'd told himself at the time that he had to bring it, that Fulton probably didn't even have a copy and they were going to need something to remind all those stuck-up preppie kids of who they were. He wasn't above a little bragging, after all; he'd done it often enough with his own friends, so what did it matter what a bunch of rich kids thought of him?

When he got off the plane in Minneapolis he wasn't thinking about the rich kids, though, and when Bombay shoved him in the direction of the locker room he wasn't thinking about anything except seeing Fulton again. He told himself it was just because he was looking forward to getting back on the ice, that the butterflies in his stomach were just pre-game jitters. He'd heard all the stories from Coach Bombay on the plane to Minnesota, and he knew what he'd be up against when he got to his new school. He had every reason to be nervous when he walked into that locker room, only as soon as he walked through the door he forgot all about the game.

He was pretty sure nobody could tell how nervous he was. If he seemed a little too hyped up or talked a little too loud they all probably figured that he was just excited about the game, and the truth was that he was anxious to get back on the ice. It was the place where he felt most comfortable, where everything made sense and he didn't have to think about anything except doing his job. So he threw himself into the game and tried not to look at Fulton any more than he had to, and without even thinking about it they fell right back into the rhythm that all the sportswriters in L.A. had called the 'Bash Brothers magic'.

It felt good to be skating with Fulton again, to hear the crowd go crazy when they hit the ice together for the first time in six months. And maybe he got a little too excited, but he'd never had a problem making an entrance, and he wasn't embarrassed about playing to the crowd. That was part of his job, after all, and it was just another thing he and Fulton were good at. He stayed hyped up through the game and beyond, in the locker room and then later when they all went back to the dorm to rehash the details of the night.

He didn't even know where he was sleeping until the dorm monitor came and rounded them up, and when he found himself being herded down the hall toward what he assumed was Fulton's room he panicked for the first time all night. He wasn't sure why; they were still friends, Fulton had proved that when Dean walked into the locker room. He wasn't mad at Dean for staying away, he didn't really have a reason to be. So there was no reason for Dean to be nervous about staying in Fulton's room; that was the way it should be, the Bash Brothers together just like they had been in L.A.

He told himself it was just leftover adrenaline from the game and followed Fulton into the tiny dorm room, but when he saw his bags sitting on one of the beds his stomach did a weird flip that he knew didn't have anything to do with a post-game rush. It made sense, he told himself; they would have put them together in the beginning, and when Dean didn't show up for school Fulton ended up with a room by himself. He might have even made a joke about Fulton having to give up his bachelor pad; he wasn't sure, because when he looked over at Fulton the other boy was just standing there watching him.

"Where've you been, man?"

Maybe he should have expected Fulton to ask him that. Maybe he should have spent his time on the plane coming up with a decent answer. But he hadn't let himself think about what was going to happen when he saw them all again, hadn't really let himself think about why he'd stayed away in the first place. So instead of telling Fulton the truth he just shrugged and looked down at the floor between them. "I told you, I didn't think it would be the same without Bombay. Besides, my team needed me."

He looked up again just in time to catch the flicker of hurt -- or was it confusion? -- in Fulton's eyes. "I thought after the Goodwill Games..."

"What?" Dean prompted when Fulton trailed off, part of him desperate to hear the rest of the sentence.

"I just figured you thought of us as your team."

He told himself he wasn't disappointed in the answer; he hadn't been expecting Fulton to say anything about missing him, about what a good team they'd made for that one week in L.A. "It's not the same for me, man. You've skated with these guys for years."

As soon as he said it he wished he could take it back, because the look on Fulton's face told him that wasn't what the other boy had been expecting to hear. He didn't want to fight about this; he didn't even want to talk about it, because it came way too close to a truth he hadn't let himself think about since he got back to Chicago. If he was being honest he'd have to admit that the thought of seeing Fulton again made him nervous in ways he didn't understand, and now that they were face to face again he was more confused than ever. He knew Fulton didn't get what he was saying; for him the Ducks were everything, and once they'd accepted Portman and the others they'd assumed they would all stick together.

"So why'd you change your mind?"

Another question he didn't have an answer for, and Dean was starting to wonder if it was too late to catch a ride back to the airport. "I don't know. Bombay made it sound like a pretty sweet deal. And it wasn't the same anymore...back home, I mean. I was still playing hockey and everything, but it was different."

That got him a funny little half-grin, and when he felt his knees wobble he knew he'd made a huge mistake. There was no way he could handle this, not sharing a room with Fulton or even playing on the same team with him. Not when all he wanted to do was reach out and touch him. It was the first time he'd let himself think it, but as soon as he did he felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Well, whatever. I'm just glad you're here, man." Fulton clapped him on the shoulder and instantly Dean's arm started to tingle, but he told himself it was just his imagination and did his best to shake off the sensation.

"Yeah, me too," he answered. "Listen, sorry about making you give up your room and all."

"Forget it. It's your room too, always has been." Fulton gestured toward the long desk running along the back wall, and when Dean spotted a newspaper clipping hanging on the wall above it his heart skipped a beat. "Got it from one of the papers in L.A. I figured if the Bash Brothers weren't skating together anymore at least it'd be there to remind people, you know?"

Dean just nodded because what else could he do, really? He nodded and looked over at Fulton, smiling the smile that always made the girls in the stands go crazy. Only he'd never really had much interest in them beyond the way their screams pumped him up during a game; he was a lot more interested in the way Fulton was smiling back at him. Something about Fulton's smile made him want to go to his bag and dig around in it until he found his own copy of the exact same clipping, to show Fulton that he hadn't forgotten either. No matter how far apart they were he wouldn't forget what they were -- perfect, magic, unstoppable, all those words the papers wrote about them -- when they were on the ice together.

It made him wonder what they could be off the ice, but he wasn't sure if he had the courage to find out. For all his bravado, all the words he threw around like they were nothing, he wasn't sure he was brave enough to risk the truth now that he was starting to figure out what it was.

"We make a pretty good team."

He wasn't sure what it was about Fulton's voice, if it was the way he'd said it or the look in his eyes, but it was enough. It was enough to give him the boost of courage he needed, and before he even thought about it he was moving forward until there was barely an inch of space between them. "Yeah." His breath hit Fulton's cheek and he watched, fascinated, as the other boy's eyelids fluttered. "Yeah, we do."

For a second he hesitated, then he saw Fulton's fingers twitch out of the corner of his eye and he knew he wasn't the only one holding back. So he let go and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Fulton's. He'd never kissed anybody before -- not a real kiss, anyway -- so he didn't know what to expect, but no matter whether or not he'd done it right he was pretty sure this was perfect. It was Fulton, and he was kissing back, and that was all that mattered.

He knew the exact moment when his life changed forever. It wasn't when he kissed Fulton for the first time, or even when he walked into the Warriors locker room in the middle of the game against Varsity. It was that first day back in Minneapolis when he'd stood toe to toe with Fulton and pushed him, and Fulton had pushed him back. He remembered exactly what Fulton had said to him: _Get your hands off of me._ It still made him laugh to think of it now, and when Fulton tensed and pulled away Dean realized he'd been laughing out loud.

"What?" Fulton asked, but there was a wariness behind his defensive tone that let Dean know he wasn't any more sure about what they were doing than Dean was.

"Nothing," Dean answered as he pulled Fulton close again. "Just glad to be back with my team."


End file.
